


Midsummer showers

by Su02



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Broken Families, Kissing in the Rain, Light Angst, M/M, Rain, Slow Burn, Sunrises, apparently, coffee vs tea: semishira edition, mentions of divorce, the s in semishira stands for SIMP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su02/pseuds/Su02
Summary: “Well, he’s not wrong.”“He’s a dick.”“More like you want his dick.”“Taichi what the fuck, that’s disgusting.”“Kenjirou, I’ve literally seen you circle every weekend in a big red heart on your calendar and label it ‘sunrise with Semi’.”OR: Shirabu has kept the fact that he grew up in a broken family hidden from all but himself. However, that changes when he meets a certain senior who also stays in the student dormitory over the weekends. Eventually, he learns to overcome his predicament through a journey that starts from bickering and ends in bickering.
Relationships: Goshiki Tsutomu/Kawanishi Taichi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 22
Kudos: 62





	1. Functioning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou my favourite mitochondriHOES and my wifey Soap Nation for giving me encouragement and motivation to write this, love yall so much <3

Magic. What _was_ magic? Many attribute it to the soft purr of cards in the hands of a magician, the stupefying awe that follows after each revelation, or perhaps the simple thrill of witnessing an astonishing performance. Shirabu begged to differ. The best magic was subtle, underlying, hidden unless you squinted. It was the way fires curled away, parting like an ocean divided in the presence of his father. It was the way gentle zephyrs nestled his mothers hair, turning it into an everflowing stream of molten gold. It was the way metal embellished itself on his grandmother’s palm, morphing into the most beautiful of ornaments. To put it simple, magic was harmony; uncontrolled, free, yet still glorious. But Shirabu’s magic was that of cold storms and hostile tempests. He hated it.

The earliest memory Shirabu had was when he was three. He remembered lying atop his bed, fingers clutching the edges of his blanket, desperately pulling it overhead to shroud his presence. Thunder rippled in the background, it’s growl only broken by muffled profanities hurled across the household. Rain pelted against his window hard as hail whilst winds whistled through minute gaps. He remembered fear pooling in the pit of his gut, heavier than lead, colder than ice as an endless stream of tears trailed down the hollow of his cheeks. Too young to formulate thoughts but old enough understand that such was not a life he wanted. That night he slept to the purr of thunder and the lullaby of chaos.

The journey of elementary school was but a blur. Not a day went by without a downpour. There were whispers in the hallway and rumours between walls but he paid it little mind. It was there he learnt to be disciplined, self-sufficient, vigilant. He learnt the love of a father and that of a mother but more importantly, he learnt that they were two separate entities, never to exist in coherence. Young he may be but the boy vowed to be the bridge; the glue to broken glass - the perfect son.

It was in middle school where rumours were no longer whispers. They were deafening, like speakers blasted at full volume. No one knew it was him who caused the rain but he did. So he lived like he was treading on eggshells. Each offhand comment was an insult, each passing gaze a glare. Shirabu simply plastered an indifferent expression, creating a facade; a cold reputation. 

Then, he discovered volleyball and for the first time in years, grey clouds parted. He found solace in the sting of a receive, the burn of a sprint, and the precision of a set. Shirabu played volleyball like he played chess; each player a piece and him the player. With each game, he faded more into the background, his fame shrouded by that of the ace. But when the applause came, Shirabu smiled. Subtle, underlying, hidden unless you squinted. The glory was all his.

And that brings us to highschool. Clad in a simple sports attire, Shirabu stepped into the court, joining the line of first years. A foreign excitement bloomed in the cage of his chest as he glanced round. The equipment wasn’t of the tattered and old quality he was used to; it was new. Volleyballs gleamed with a fresh sheen of leather, not yet tainted by overuse whilst the net stood firm and taut.

“Welcome everyone!” A redhead’s booming voice drew him out of his daze. Shirabu couldn’t help but stare at the sunlight clinging to the boy’s complexion, setting him aglow with radiant lustre; a beautiful attribution. Without much of a pause, the senior continued in the same singsong tone. “My name is Tendou Satori!” He then gestured to a burly boy on his right with outstretched arms. “This is Ushijima Wakatoshi! And this…” Tendou slung an arm round the boy on his left. “Is Semisemi~”

Shirabu raised a single brow as “Semisemi” swatted Tendou’s arm away with a venomless scoff. “Don’t listen to him. I’m Semi Eita. Just call me Semi. Anyway, we’ll be splitting evenly into teams and play a three on three for evaluation purposes. Is everyone okay with that?”

After a unanimous agreement and a round of introduction, Shirabu found himself standing on the court, facing off against Tendou, a ginger guy who he briefly remembered was Kawanishi, and the ashen-haired senior. His pulse quickened as he readied himself, waiting for Ushijima to start the ball rolling. Then, he heard it - the familiar rhythm of a jump serve. Three brief beats, a pause, a palm contacting the ball louder than cackling thunder. The ball was a blur of yellow and blue as it zipped across the net, one moment headed to an opening and the next right into Semi’s arms.

“Chance ball!”

Shirabu darted across the court, arms and fingers outstretched as he leaped. _Quicken the pace, set the first touch, don’t give them room to breathe_ . “Ushijima-san!” Sending the ball sailing in a high arc, he landed lightly, keeping his eyes on the play. Sure enough, Shiratorizawa’s ace spiked it with enough force to dent metal. The ball plummeted to the ground, the opposing trio frozen in place. Shirabu met Semi’s gaze. Confusion, confliction, but more importantly, challenge. His lips curled into the faintest of smiles as he cocked a single brow. _If you’re not careful, I’ll take your place._ The boy seemed to get the message. His brows knitted ever so slightly, lips pulled into a subtle scowl before jogging back in position.

Ushijima churned out another serve, this time aimed at the first year. The ball whizzed through the air with visibly less speed but still powerful nonetheless - a test. Kawanishi passed. Tendou sprinted up front as the Semi leaped for a set. Moving like liquid, Shirabu, too, got in position along with Yunohama, jumping in tune with Tendou. But the set never came. 

“Shit.”

Semi palmed the ball, smashing it over the net with a quick flick of his wrist. Landing abruptly, Shirabu made a futile dive in an attempt to save it but it fell out of his reach. Glancing up, he caught a mocking smile donned on the boy’s face. Ombre hair of moonlight grey tipped onyx haphazardly framed his face as spheres of molten chocolate looked down upon Shirabu. _Challenge accepted._

A gentle breeze flickered in through opened windows as the patter of rain played in the background. But this was no tempest nor storm. It was a mere drizzle that basked in the late afternoon sun. It smelt of forests and flowers, of blooming buds and emerging leaves, filling the silence with a song sweeter than that of a nightingale's melody.

The rest of the game flew by in a blur. While scores were not counted, from the looks on the senior’s faces at the end of it, Shirabu could tell they were at least satisfied. He engaged in little conversation as he packed his things before hauling his luggage to the student dormitories. That night, the brunette slept in blissful silence. Sleep had never come so easy.

\-------

The rest of the week passed rather uneventfully and soon enough, the weekend had rolled by. Shirabu rose early due to force of habit. Stirring silently, he sat up, exhaustion still tugging at his eyelids. Kawanishi had gone home for the weekend, as did most of the student population, leaving him to his own devices. The sky was still an overcast slate of residual midnight gloom stubbornly lingering before dawn. Slipping on a pair of sippers, he headed to the communal kitchen, assuming it would be empty, to brew coffee and have some alone time. 

The communal kitchen was spacious to say the least; so much so that calling it a kitchen would be like calling an ocean a puddle. It consisted of a gargantuan circular room the size of an observatory. There were a few tables and chairs stacked at the side of the room, making way for a large circular couch surrounding a round table in the middle. A stark resemblance to a caldera. The only features of a kitchen would be the few boilers, pans and teapots located at the back of the room. Shirabu didn’t know if Shiratorizawa had too much or too little budget but this particular space had windows for walls, providing full view of the lush forests beyond. 

Groggily making a beeline for the coffee press, Shirabu paid little mind to his surroundings as he dragged his squeaky footsteps. Curse the old slippers. Tiptoeing, he then opened a top drawer to reach for a bottle of grounded coffee beans.

“Well good morning to you too.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, words enunciated in an almost teasing tone. _It’s too damn early for this._ Hoping the statement wasn’t directed at him, he willfully ignored it as he went about his business. Shirabu delighted in the process of brewing coffee; the precise measurements, careful handling of boiled water, and the satisfaction of the final press. Many preferred to sweeten the taste of coffee but Shirabu liked it black. After all, only in black coffee could you truly relish in the fragrance of coffee beans. Sure, it was bitter but it was a _distinct_ bitter. It was a bitter that served to enhance the delicate flavour of the beverage, leaving a signature woody aftertaste. To taint such an experience would be an insult to his palate. Gripping the mug in one hand and the coffee press in the other, he finally turned round only to find himself face to face with a certain ashen haired senior.

“Holy fuck-”

Stumbling back, he tightened his hold on his items, spilling some coffee in the process. Lips pressed in a slight scowl, he glanced up. Semi looked infuriatingly amused, sharp features locked in a mocking expression, his ink tipped locks perfectly unkempt. The boy kept a relaxed posture, his shoulders sloping gently, palm clutching a single teacup. When he spoke, his voice was that of a soothing purr with a touch of sarcasm. Shirabu internally cussed at how it was the last thing from unpleasant. “Now that’s no way to greet a person.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he uttered his clipped reply. “Good morning, Semi-san.” Stepping aside, he then made his way to the couch, placing the coffee press in front of him before taking his first sip. And damn, was it everything he wished for and more. The initial sharp taste melted into a river of soothing flavour, as though the essence of the forest condensed itself into the sip of liquid on his tongue. He heard white leather sigh as a foreign presence settled beside him, breaking the tranquil silence.

“You drink your coffee black?”

This time, he did not resist the urge to roll his eyes as he glared at the boy. His word was curt, hissed with a slight curl of his tongue after a beat of silence. “Yes.”

“That’s gross.”

“Like you’re one to talk. What’s that? Tea?” Shirabu simply scoffed and said nothing more.

“At least tea doesn’t taste like bitterness and hatred.”

“That’s because tea doesn’t have a taste.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excused.”

A veil of silence settled once more as he shifted his gaze back to the widow. Beyond the canopy shrouding the horizon, amber tints began to emerge. The sphere of fire rose like a flower coming to full bloom, painting the aerospace in warm hues. Flecks of gold, crimson, and tangerine mingled like molten in the canvas of sky as though blended together by the masterful hand of an artist. More vibrant than a sublime tapestry, more vivid than a child's reverie, the sun rose to full view, basking in all it’s glory and lustre. Once green forests were now tinted bronze, much like the surrounding streets and buildings, birthing a view like no other. A view dipped in honey. A view dyed sepia.

Shirabu felt a smile tug at the edges of his mouth as he watched, transfixed. Perhaps it was the coffee or the sunrise but he felt his morning grouchiness slowly seep away, replaced by a warmth that rivaled Hestia’s hearth. Semi shifted beside him, turning to rest an arm on the sofa backing.

“Keep staring and you’ll go blind.”

“Keep talking and you’ll sound like my mother, Semi- _san_.”

“You’re such a brat you know that?”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

This time it was Semi’s turn to scoff as he stood up, sparing a glance at the now azure sky. “Well, show’s over. I’ll be going now, have a good day.”

“You came here just to watch the sunrise?”

Semi hummed lightly, feigning a pensive demeanor for a brief moment before responding with a shrug. “It’s just a pretty sight that gets me up early when there’s no training.” Shirabu caught Semi’s gaze trail down for a heartbeat before establishing eye contact once more, his lips slowly curling into a smirk. “By the way, nice slippers.” With that, the boy stalked off.

Shirabu glanced down sharply, all too aware of the fluffy, cotton-like fur that accompanied the pair of bunny ears sewn onto the crown of each slipper. A foreign warmth stirred in his cheeks, dyeing them crimson as a string of profanities emerged from the sea of his thoughts.

 _Goddamnit_.

\-------

Over the next few weekends, Semi never failed to be there. The boy was infuriatingly energetic considering it was six am and to make matters worse, Shirabu _didn’t_ hate it. A new routine formed; an odd break from the constant bickering during training, almost uncharacteristic but surprisingly not unwelcome.

Shirabu settled on the opposite side of the couch this time, counting the seconds before a certain senior headed over. Sure enough, Semi came, his gaze lingering on the cup of coffee before speaking in a mocking tone. “I see you’re drinking bitter bean water again.”

Shirabu scowled, reluctantly tilting his chin to meet Semi’s gaze. “And I see you’re drinking tasteless leaf water again.”

“Have you even _tried_ tea? You’ll never go back to drinking that vile black liquid.”

Raising a brow, he tilted his head to a side ever so slightly, sarcasm oozing into his tone. “All due respect, Semi-san, I mistook it for a glass of warm water.”

“Your taste buds are broken.”

“And yours unrefined.”

Semi scoffed, slumping against the couch backing as he silently sipped his drink. “Anyway, why aren’t you home for the weekend?”

Shirabu visibly froze, his cup hovering near his lips for a few moments too long, letting him feel the warmth of rising steam on his forehead. Thunder purred overhead, threatening the arrival of rain as fear lashed within the confinements of his chest. His heart studdered, mind scrambling for an excuse that wasn’t suspicious. Forcing a nonchalant tone, he then responded. “I find travel inconvenient.”

Semi simply cocked a brow but pushed no further. Not wanting an awkward silence to settle, Shirabu then enquired: “and you?”

“My family lives in a different prefecture.”

“I see.”

“So why Shiratorizawa?”

“Is this an interview?”

“I’m just trying to make conversation because _someone_ clearly isn’t.”

Shirabu lifted his gaze from his beverage to shoot him a venomless glare. “I came to watch some of Shiratorizawa’s matches and decided I like their playstyle.”

He saw Semi’s lips curl into a subtle smile, his tanned complexion gleaming bronze as the sun begun to rise. Umber irises caught the resplendent sun’s rays, igniting from within with flecks of gold. His voice was smooth as song, words imbued with a slight tease. “You know you can just admit you were awestruck by Wakatoshi’s spikes and wanted to be on his team.”

“Actually,” Shirabu began, keeping his tone purely informational. “I enjoyed watching the way you set. I figured, if anything, that this was the school I would hone my volleyball skills best.” Shirabu swore he caught rosy tints dust the other cheeks for a brief second but he brushed it off as a play of light.

“Then why not Aoba Johsai? Isn’t Oikawa the best setter in our prefecture?”

A shrug. “Aoba Johsai doesn’t win. Ushijima-san has mentioned it before but Oikawa is the only competent player there.” Shirabu placed his now empty glass on the table before leaning forward. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he met Semi’s gaze, fingers steepling as his voice dipped an octave lower. “But I came here to win.”

For the first time, he heard Semi laugh. Soft hitches of whimsical laughter filled the silence like music. “You should show that side of you more during training.”

“What side?” He asked, though his question was spoken with the tone of a deadpan sentence.

“The side that shows you want to win.”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, his gaze settling once more on the boy beside him. “Everyone wants to win, Semi-san.”

“Well forgive me for being mistaken when you have the same expression for winning and losing.”

“That’s not true, I smile when I win.”

“No you don’t”

Despite his inhibitions, Shirabu found himself leaning in a hair’s breadth closer, brows furrowing ever so slightly as he uttered: “watch me.”

\-------

And watch Semi did. As spring high drew closer, coach Wshijo decided to squeeze in as many practice matches as possible. If not with other teams, then amongst themselves. That said, pitting the first string up against the second left too huge of a power gap, thus there was a unanimous decision to randomize lineups on both sides.

“Randomize my ass.” Semi gritted, a lone bead of sweat trailing down his temple as he braced for Ushijima’s killer serve the fifth time that week. And it was just Tuesday. The sun had long sunk beneath the horizon’s blade, leaving nothing but shadows lurking beyond indoor lighting. 

For someone who’d been training for the past three hours, Ushijima moved like water, his motions swifter than perfection as he sent the ball sailing at the speed of light. Stifling a groan, Semi felt himself move, more out of instinct than anything else. His muscles burned beneath his weight, threatening to crumble with every movement. Leveling his arms above his knees, he ignored the agonizing sting on his forearms as he propelled ball in a high arc. 

They had been at it for longer than he could count. With scores at 36-37, both sides just wanted it to end but neither was willing to give in. Semi sparred a glance at the clock. 9pm. An hour past the supposed “end of training.” Shifting his attention back on the game, he was just in time to catch Kawanishi save Tendou’s spike.

“One touch!”

 _Just give it up already._ Sprinting into position, Semi kept his attention on the ball as he built the momentum for a block. From the corner of his vision, he saw Shirabu, completely still while the rest flew into motion around him. His hands and fingers outstretched, lips pursed in concentration, hazel locks flickering in a silent breeze. Just for a second, time stuttered to a null, as though the world stopped spinning on its axis and simply watched along with him. The brunette’s porcelain complexion gleamed beneath a sheen of sweat as he took to the air. Caramel irises shimmered in tune with dancing shadows, locked one thing and one thing only - the volleyball. _Wait, that’s not right._ Semi watched on, waiting for him to spare a brief glance at the spikers but Shirabu kept his gaze locked. _Oh shit he’s going for a dump._ Semi slammed his foot against the ground in hopes of halting his motion to make the dive but his leg gave way, knee bending as he crumbled to the floor. Within that second, so did the ball. 

The whistle blew, shrill and piercing. Semi glanced up, only to see a hand outstretched and it’s owner… A boy. A boy whose smile so stunning poets would wax lyrical about in an endless stream of similes and metaphors. A boy whose lips so beautiful artisans would labour their whole life trying to craft a work equally breathtaking. Semi might as well have met God. 

“Are you going to get up or…” 

Semi blinked, feeling his pulse flatline for a few long moments. His gaze trailed from cinnamon eyes framed by long onyx lashes to the subtle contour down his cheeks, eventually settling on the faint grin pulling at it. The boy could only hope he still had his resting bitch face.

“... Semi? Did you hit your head?”

Forcing a reaction, Semi grasped his hand, feeling the all too comforting warmth radiating from it. He let himself be hauled up with a brief thanks, wistfully ignoring his heart pounding in his ears. Tendou’s not-so-subtle wolf whistle instantly drew his attention. Letting go of Shirabu’s hand, Semi whipped round to throw him a glower though unseen by the redhead parading to the lockers. Oh how he rued the day he consulted Tendou for shitty advice regarding shitty juniors. Shifting his gaze back to Shirabu, he then said: “You played well today but the last dump was too obvious.”

“Okay, Semi-san.”

“You should try to look at the spikers to make it more convincing.”

“If you say so.”

Semi took a moment to wonder why Shirabu had to be absolutely _impossible_ to talk to at practice. He figured nothing. Suppressing an exasperated sigh, he then turned to leave, only to be stopped by a short call from Shirabu. Semi turned round, finding the brunette standing with his arms folded, a single brow cocked to his hairline.

“Did you forget? We’re supposed to pack up today.”

“What do you mean? I’m supposed to stay back on thursday-” Stopping himself, he made a dash for the rosters. _No, he couldn’t have._ Sure enough, in place of his name on Thursday, was Tendou’s. _Son of a bitch._

\-------

Stygian skies loomed to the horizon but the surroundings were by no means dark. Sequin silver stars shone with the radiance of a shattered sun, its fragments littering the aerospace like crystals embroidered onto black silk. Shirabu stood aside as Semi locked up the gym with an audible click, simply grateful he could finally _rest_. Slinging his training bag over his shoulder, he wordlessly began the walk back, pausing shortly as a gesture for Semi to follow suit. Meander pathways were illuminated by the star’s brilliance like a river catching moonlight. Shirabu trod on them silently, noticing his shadow flicker in shades blacker than pitch. A foreign curiosity festered as he gazed upon the ashen haired boy. Perhaps it was the late hour coupled with exhaustion ebbing his inhibitions away but he found himself asking.

“What’s your attribution?”

Shirabu saw Semi tilt his head, his locks a stream of sterling silver dipped in ink, sharp features giving away his tired state. Despite that, he caught a whiff of a smile curling at the edges of his lips. “It’s stars."

Shirabu sparred a glance at the sky, finding himself face to face with a thousand suspended orbs of light. His voice fell dead at his throat as he simply gazed into the bejeweled sea. No words weaved to sentences could begin to describe. More elegant than the break of dawn, more majestic than a carved gemstone. It was as though the galaxy was a painting and the sky it’s canvas. Semi took the silence as a cue to keep talking but his voice was a mere lull in the background of serenity. Shirabu felt his pulse slow, tranquility pooling in the cage of his chest like a breath of fresh air but a foreign pang of envy curled in his gut. Stars were beautiful, rain was not. Shirabu shifted his attention to Semi, his chin still tilted toward the skies, and caught him mouth something along the lines of “it’s honestly quite boring.” He couldn’t stop the icy tone in his interjection.

“What do you mean?”

Semi raised a brow, his confusion made apparent. “It’s not as impressive as Satori’s sunshine or Wakatoshi’s plants.” A shrug. “Not many look at the sky anyway, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, I wish I had what you have.”

“And what do you have?”

Shirabu remained silent, his pulse stuttering as hazel eyes met umber. For once, the boy contemplated sharing. He contemplated searching for solace in something apart from volleyball, eventually deciding against it. The brunette uttered a single word. Curt, rehearsed, rolling off the tip of his tongue smoother than a shot of rum.

“Nothing.”

Semi looked like he just kicked a puppy, as did many when Shirabu said his lie. So he followed up with another rehearsed statement. “Don’t apologise. I don’t really care about it anymore.”

“Okay.” He could tell Semi was hesitant, albeit desperate to keep a conversation as he continued. “So what do you care about?”

Shirabu slowed his pace to a stroll, brows knitting ever so slightly. _Really?_ Letting sarcasm ooze into his tone, he deadpanned: “volleyball.”

“No shit, that doesn’t count.”

“Academics.”

“Other than that.”

“... My friends.”

Semi let out an audible gasp. “You have friends?” _Bastard, that actually sounded like a genuine question._

Shirabu simply shot him a glare. “Obviously I have friends.”

“Okay, name one.”

“Taichi.” 

“Not in volleyball.”

Silence. The brunette clenched his jaw, locking his gaze on the road. “Fuck you.”

“And that’s why you don’t have friends.”

“Screw off, Semi-san.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be nice.”

“I _am_ nice.”

“Sure, keep thinking that.”

“I will.” Shirabu stepped up to the dorm entrance, fighting sarcasm with snark. The boy stilled himself at the juncture for them to part, tucking his fingers behind his back; Semi didn’t have to know about the awkward fiddling. For once, he let his gaze fixate on the senior, feeling his pulse quicken in ways it should not. Semi stood ethereal against the backdrop of night, ashen hair gleaming like tributary where starlight rivers met styx. From the trough of his collarbone to the hollow of his cheeks, sharp features and jacked figure all created an image too much for the brunette. 

“Anyway, thanks for the walk back.”

Amidst his internal panic, Shirabu willed his expression neutral, keeping an unfazed demeanor as he replied. “Don’t mention it.” His stare lingered as a veil of silence blanketed the ambience. Was he supposed just to walk away now? His mind decided that that was a great time to implode from within. Should he hi-five? Fistbump? Or, God forbid, hug? No, Shirabu was a cultured soul, he didn’t engage in such exchanges. But, to be honest, a hug did sound nice. No that was stupid. Absolutely idiotic. Shirabu stepped back, aware he had been staring for a few moments too long. Forcing the words out, he eased into a lackluster tone. “Goodnight, Semi-san.” With a stiff bow, he then left, his pace a touch too hurried to be considered languid.

He rounded the corridor, instantly pressing his back against the wall, fingers clutching the cloth over his chest as he sank to the ground. A feeling he’d recently been accustomed to bloomed in his chest like fields of wildflowers in spring. Shirabu stayed like that for a few beats, feeling like a dumb middle school girl entertaining wistful fantasies. Honestly, it was stupid. Things never worked out in the long term; he’d witnessed that first hand. Love was but a fleeting sentiment, pointless to hold on tight to. But now, all of Shirabu’s thoughts was a picture and in it, a boy. Hair like winter snow tipped charcoal, eyes like autumn leaves turned crisp, smile like staring into the heart of a galaxy. And he couldn’t help but entertain such short term desires.

Needless to say, Shirabu returned to his dorm upbeat though his behaviour spoke otherwise. Idly tossing his training bag aside, he took a quick shower and managed to drag himself to bed just before lights out. But sleep never came. Shirabu heard seconds tick by on the analog clock above the mechanical purr of air conditioning. He thought back to his prior conversation, wondering what Semi thought of him and he couldn’t help but ask.

“Taichi, I have friends right?” Rolling over on the top bunk, Shirabu glanced below.

Kawanishi barely spared him the light of day, simply shifting his gaze from his phone to glance at Shirabu for a brief moment before looking at his phone once more. “Shouldn’t you be asleep.”

“You should be asleep too but I don’t see you doing that.”

“But I’m busy.” The ginger shook his phone as he uttered his response, his thumb hovering over the touchscreen keyboard.

“Stop texting your middle school boyfriend you pedophile and answer my question.”

“I’m in the middle of a very important conversation.”

“Sure, because Terrible Bowlcut over there has the mental capability of holding a serious conversation.”

“Well I find his hairstyle endearing. Stop insulting him when you haven't even met him. Tsutomu’s going to be your junior next year y’know.”

“Oh the horror.” Shirabu deadpanned before continuing. “Now answer my question.”

He caught Kawanishi reluctantly switch his phone off, the diminished light now reducing everything to vague silhouettes. “Is this about Semi again?”

Shirabu instantly scowled. “Just answer the question.”

“I mean.” The middle blocker took a moment to ponder sarcastically, feigning a pensive expression though unseen by the other. “It’s debatable.”

“Excuse me?” Letting out an exasperated sigh, the brunette slumped back on his back letting silence fill the air. 

“So are you going to tell me what happened or not.”

Shirabu simply responded with an incoherent groan.

“Come on, use your words.”

Scowling at the ceiling, the setter grudgingly spoke. “Semi said I don’t have friends outside of volleyball because I’m not a nice person.” A pause. “But I am a nice person. I am _so_ nice.” Cutting himself off, he slammed a fist against his bed in defeat.

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

“He’s a dick.”

“More like you want his dick.”

Shirabu immediately sat up, scrambling to the safety rail to shoot a glare at him. “Taichi what the fuck, that’s disgusting.”

“Kenjirou, I’ve literally seen you circle every weekend in a big red heart on your calendar and label it ‘sunrise with Semi’.”

Shirabu found no words as realization dawned upon him like a bucket of ice water. “When- What-” No think, just kill. Leaping off his bunk, he landed roughly with a thud and threw himself on Kawanishi only to find himself instantly pushed off. Shirabu rolled on the ground, eventually resting his back against the foot of the ginger’s bed, knees clutched to his chest. “Oh my god you saw it.” He uttered, more for himself than anyone else.

Kawanishi eased himself into a sitting position. “It was kind of in the open on your table-”

“Oh my god, you _saw_ it.” Shirabu repeated, audibly louder this time. He heard the ruffle of cotton as the boy shuffled closer. Tilting his chin, Shirabu established eye contact, grateful for the darkness to hide his blush. Voice dipping low, he then spoke in the volume of a whisper. “I can’t believe you fucking saw it.”

He barely caught Kawanishi roll his eyes nor the sarcasm imbued in his tone. “Kenji, shut up. So you like Semi, big deal. It’s not like I didn’t already know.” 

Shirabu pressed a palm to his temple, fingers combing through hazel locks as another “Oh my God” escaped his lips. 

“Calm the fuck down. Besides, he probably likes you back-”

“Explain.”

“He looks at you like he can see through your clothes.” Kawanishi shuddered. “ _Disgusting._ ”

“I-” Shirabu found himself burying his face in his hands, warmth pooling in his cheeks. The boy remained still, simply reeling in shock and confusion in silence.

“Right. Now if you’ve resolved your gay crisis, I’ll be over there resolving _my_ gay crisis. Goshiki’s probably freaking out now cause I went offline.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HII thanks so much for reading. I would like to apologise if i self imposed on shirabu too much........ yeah im gonna self impose more next chapter because family angst intensifies HAHA but anyway, I really hope you guys had fun reading this because I sure did when writing. Till next time :D


	2. Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inaccurate descriptions of volleyball? Inaccurate descriptions of volleyball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uM did I say this chapter was gonna be angsty? Yeah, I actually mean next chapter HAHA I'm horrible at planning. Mad thank you to Ash, Dex, Bern, Lena, and my wifey Fiona for the encouragement, I really love yall so much <3

Shirabu spent the whole of that week observing but there was only so much he could do when he had his own training to focus on. The last thing he wanted was Washijo calling him out, especially when his coach was already wound up tight with nationals approaching. As such, by the time the weekend rolled round, he had made exactly no progress whatsoever.

Guided by routine, Shirabu made his way to the cafeteria to find a familiar sight waiting for him. Semi sat slumped against the sofa backing, his tousled silver locks especially unkempt that morning. The boy’s eyelids remained closed, lips pulled slightly ajar, his sharp features appearing soft by the sway of sleep. Now that was unusual. Settling beside the senior, Shirabu wordlessly peered over. Ashen brows curved in the most gentle of gradients, it’s ends slightly shrouded by a curtain of onyx. His gaze travelled down, following the contour of his cheeks to the trough of his collarbone. It took more resistance than Shirabu would admit to stop him from trailing his fingers along that path as well. Honestly, it felt rude; almost intrusive. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Everything else in the canvas of his vision melted into a blurry backdrop. If a picture is worth a thousand words, Shirabu would argue that the view before him was worth a million pictures. So he sat there, staring, listening to the lull of Semi’s exhales as flowers bloomed in his chest.

Eventually, the senior woke and he found himself closer than ever to umber irises. Close enough to see flecks of cinnamon scattered across the sea of chocolate in his pupil. _Like stars_ , he thought, _like a galaxy._ For a few long seconds, he heard the echo of his heartbeat resonate in his eardrums. But he reluctantly backed away, forcing a nonchalant demeanour. Shifting his gaze to the canopy beyond, he let muscle memory guide his languid tone.

“No tea today?”

He heard Semi stifle a yawn, taking his time to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “Nah, I was thinking of trying coffee today.”

 _Wait, what?_ Shirabu shot him a dubious look, still trying to digest his words. “You.”

“Yes?”

“Trying coffee.” The brunette swore he saw Semi’s lips curl ever so slightly but before he knew it, it was gone. 

“That’s what I said, yes.”

Shirabu’s eyes narrowed a fraction, brows furrowing ever so slightly as he enquired: “What’s your ulterior motive?”

To his utter surprise, Semi brought his hand up to flick him on the forehead, prompting his heart to lurch in his chest. “There _is_ no motive you idiot.”

“Really now?”

“Figured I might as well try that vile _thing_ you torture yourself with.”

Shirabu feigned irritance to glare daggers. “Insult coffee one more time and I will make it vile.” With that he got up and headed over to the counter to brew the drink, letting Semi peer over his shoulder. An idea came to him. Silently, subtly, a thought he’d easily miss if he wanted to. _What if I tried tea?_ He lightly shook his head, pushing it to the back of his mind and fixating on the process of the brew. But as he finished with a final press, he realized he did not make enough for two. Shirabu poured the coffee slowly, the realization of his mistake settling in with surprisingly little revolt.

“I guess,” he began, reluctance evident in his tone as he handed the coffee over. “I could try tea as well.”

Shirabu glanced up, finding nothing but shock imbued in timber irises though his expression played it off. “Really?”

“Only because I forgot to make enough for myself.”

Thankfully that was enough of an excuse for Semi to set the cup aside and get working. Shirabu watched as Semi took his place at the counter, starting the process. But if he was being really honest, tea was the last thing on his mind because all he could fixate on were Semi’s hands. Slender fingers flew into motion with a certain dignified grace. The kind of grace only achievable when emulsified with familiarity. Soft lines of muscle ran the length of his forearm, waltzing in tune with delicate contours. And before he knew it, a single teacup was held expectantly in front of him. 

“Cheers.”

Shirabu took the cup, raising a single brow. Semi got the message.

“For nationals,” the boy clarified a subtle smile donning on beautiful bow shaped lips. Sunlight streamed from the windowpane, kissing his complexion bronze and illuminating his eyes gold. Shirabu felt his own smile tug at the corners of his mouth as warmth like dawn pooled in his chest.

“Cheers,” he repeated. 

Glass sang, ripples danced, sunlight basked the vicinity in sepia. Shirabu took a sip expecting hell but tasting heaven. More gentle than summer streams, more light than cotton clouds; it was a flavour of nothing but everything - subtle yet profound. The initial taste was a sharp deluge of sweet tangerine that melted into a soothing milky aroma. If home had a taste, this would be it. Not his home, but a fantasy one. A home in which laughter echoed through walls and photo frames adorned tabletops. And for a fraction of a second, he almost felt the sweet nothings of a memory saturated with love.

“What the _fuck_ did you put in this drink.”

Shirabu glanced up, catching Semi’s lips curl into a beam, the latter’s soft hitches of laughter filling the air like music. “I told you it’s good.”

“I never said it was good.”

“Are you denying?”

Shirabu’s mind decided that that was a good time to stop working. He uncharacteristically sputtered, cussing internally at the slip up. “It’s… not horrible.”

“I’ll admit the coffee was good if you admit the tea was good.”

“You think the coffee was good?”

“It’s… not horrible.” Semi’s lips pulled into a lopsided smirk, fully aware he was repeating the brunette’s words. 

“Fine.” Rolling his eyes, he kept the sarcasm in his tone. “I’ll admit your tea reminds me of those sappy families in movies. So, it’s nice.”

“Don’t be shy, you can say it reminds you of home.”

“It does, just not my home.” And for the second time that week, he contemplated finding solace in a person. A boy whose voice like song and hair like winter snow. Again, he decided against it. “Because we know better than to drink tea,” he quickly added.

“And here I thought we were making progress.”

“You wish.”

\-------

The day they lose at nationals, it’s a thunderstorm. Rain fell in curtains, like a torrent pouring from the heavens. Heavy droplets the size of coins pattered against the bus windowpane, shrouding the surroundings in a blur, grey mesh. Trees bended to the will of the winds, their stems as crooked as the hook of a cane, threatening to snap any second. Shirabu sat motionless, head pressed against the seat as he stared aimlessly into the deluge. It wasn’t supposed to be this upsetting but it was. It was stupid, really, they were already regarded as the best in Miyagi but for some odd reason, getting kicked the first round at nationals stung harder than theoretically losing at inter high finals. 

But all that didn’t matter because Shirabu didn’t play.

He stoody by the sidelines, watching as the final point was scored against them, throat raw from cheering but to no avail. A familiar feeling settled deep in his gut like a knife embedded in his flesh. A feeling that made him want to rip his insides out as if that would be less agonizing than enduring it. But of course, he didn’t let it show. Because he didn’t have the right to cry if he did nothing. He didn’t have the right to feel if he was useless.

Shirabu followed through the formalities, thanking opponents and crowds, making his way onto the bus with forced nonchalance. He was just a first year, there was nothing he could do. Same here, same back home. Fuck was he tired of hearing that statement. He closed his eyes, fixating on black, feeling his heart pound in his chest with the ferocity of a tempest. Thing is, he knew this was a sentiment that would be buried deep with time; he knew he’d be able to suppress the sting of its writhe but he wasn’t going to let such feelings taint his only solace. So as prideful as he’d think himself to be, he found himself searching out a certain senior the next day at break.

The storm continued to pour throughout the night, barely relenting by the time he stood outside the second year classrooms. Faceless students filtered in and out, their idle chatter all fading to the white noise of standard commotion. Shirabu glanced round, instantly spotting a fleck of crimson amidst a sea of monochrome and found Semi standing right next to the middle blocker. So he swiftly maneuvered through the mass of students, keeping his posture firm yet relaxed with all the grace of a dancer taking centerstage.

“Semi-san,” he greeted. Short, curt, barely a hint of hesitance in his tone. 

Two pairs of eyes turned to him, widened considerably as though he were a spectacle to behold. Semi was first to speak, Tendou still stunned silent. “Shirabu? What are you doing here?”

“Teach me how to set.” Not a question, a demand and Shirabu wouldn’t have said it any other way. 

“What? Now?”

“Yes.”

“O-okay?”

Was he hallucinating or was Tendou’s grin starting to become extra uncomfortable? Shirabu stole a sideways glare, a warning, before returning his attention back to the setter. “I’ve checked the courts and they’re empty. We should go. Now.”

With that, he turned round, pivoting on his right heel for a swift motion and stalked off in the same languid pace he entered. He heard Tendou holler a “get some Semisemi!” before being cut off by a sharp smack and he couldn’t help but tense at the interaction, much less the implications behind his words. So naturally, he ran, bolting all the way to the court without even checking if Semi was following suit. 

There’s a point in running where each breath felt like daggers stabbed through your lungs and each step like fire burning through your legs. Unfortunately, the distance to the courts was far too short to reach such extremes. But Shirabu simply needed to have his heart race for a different reason, preferably one in which he could control. He arrived to the vacant vicinity, cheeks flushed from adrenaline as he heaved a sharp inhale. Perfect. He rolled the volleyball cart out before leaning against the wall in wait, listening to thunder growl overhead. 

Through the windows, he could see rain fall in slick silk threads, tarnishing the compound in it’s damp embrace. Winds hissed like vipes coiled to strike, its ferocity untamed - and he knew exactly why. _Pathetic_ , he thought. _Absolutely pathetic_. A sigh slipped through his lips as he focused on the cold of the wall seeping through his shirt instead. Truth told, there was a time in which he’d hoped it wasn't him that was associated with the rain. A blissful ignorance, though short lived. Shirabu thought he would be able to cast the blame on a friend or even family. But in the end, it was him that storms followed like a predator stalking prey and that was an indisputable fact.

“So why’d you want me to train you.” The lull of Semi’s voice snapped his attention to the doorframe. Moonlit silver locks were tinted dull grey by the darkened backdrop of a tempest. Shirabu wistfully ignored his racing pulse, forcing his tone nonchalant.

“You seem to have a lot to say during training, I thought I might as well start listening.”

“Are you seriously telling me you’ve _never_ listened to my advice before?”

“Never taken it seriously at least.”

He watched the senior huff in irritance as he folded his arms. “You really are a brat.”

Shirabu idly pushed himself off the wall, edging closer to the other and taking a volleyball in the process.“Are you going to keep insulting me or can we start training?”

They began with a rally; a warm up - nothing Shirabu was unfamiliar with. Except this time, he found himself less focused on the sport and more so on his partner. Training with the first string wasn’t exactly a common occurrence so to have someone return his sets with equal precision was a rarity. Semi’s sets weren’t hesitant, unlike the other juniors he usually trained with. His sets were confident, swift, sailing through the air in a smooth transaction. Eventually, Shirabu found his gaze lingering a little too long on the setter himself. Slender fingers propelled the ball in a beautiful arc, his strength controlled with immaculate precision. Luminescent silver locks swayed along his every motion, in tune with the supple sculpt of muscle trailing down his forearm. A ~~small~~ large part of the brunette wanted to feel those hands on him. _Like right now_ , his mind traitorously added causing him to slip up on his return. The ball flew astray, prompting the elder to catch it and halt the rally.

“Your shoulders are too tense, relax a little.” He called out, pausing in a moment's contemplation before continuing. “Also remember not to lock your wrists.”

Shirabu readjusted his stance, wordlessly gesturing for him to continue. Semi got the message. Once again, they fell into a comfortable rhythm. The familiar sting of the volleyball tinged at the edges of his fingers along with the satisfying gust of wind that trailed between them. At that point he would usually be zoning in, finding the world smudged to a blur as he fixated on nothing but volleyball. However, this time, he found himself all too hyperaware, hoping to focus on anything but the ash-blond. He noted the distant patter of rain, inhaled the stale, humid air, and glanced at anything that wasn’t Semi’s face. Eventually the senior stopped passing and he found those aforementioned hands firmly pressed against his shoulders.

“Excuse me?” He spat, managing to mask most of his initial shock.

“You’re too tense,” Semi repeated, preceding to _massage_ his shoulders. And holy shit could the guy make a career out of it. His touch was too sharp to be considered gentle yet it was still somehow the last thing from unpleasant. It felt fluid, like ripples careening across a lake but simultaneously firm and unwavering. Unconsciously, he eased into his touch, feeling every knot loosen beneath the pressure of his fingertips. There was something about this action that painted the atmosphere tense, at least, to Shirabu. The close proximity, he concluded. In the moments to come, raindrops drumming against concrete all fell silent, secondary to the echo of his pulse resonating in his ears. 

Semi finally withdrew after what felt like hours but in reality were barely a few seconds. “Try setting again,” the senior uttered, casually tossing Shirabu a volleyball before maneuvering to face him. 

Shirabu wordlessly followed his instruction. He raised his arms, fingers outstretched as he lightly pushed the ball upwards aimlessly. A momentary beat of silence followed, save for the faint thud of the volleyball bouncing against the court. Shirabu could feel the burn of Semi’s calculative stare rest uncomfortably on him but he decidedly ignored it, choosing to nonchalantly meet his gaze instead.

“Okay so you’re clearly using your right wrist more than your left which is kind of expected since you’re right handed so just take note of that and try to keep things more balanced when you set. This allows for better control of the ball. Also, your forefinger and thumb should be a little more separated...” Before Shirabu could comprehend anything else, he felt warm hands encapsulate his own and his mind instantly short circuited. 

“Something like this,” the senior murmured but Shirabu paid very little attention to his words because there was only one thought in his mind and it was _holy shit his hands are on my hands and they are TOUCHING._ He reminded himself it was solely for teaching purposes as Semi corrected his position. But feeling calloused fingers brush against his own was not an ideal learning environment.

For better or for worse, the school bell rang, signalling the end of break. Shirabu flinched back, sparring a quick glance at a nearby clock before stifling a bow. “I’m so sorry for making you late.”

“Relax, we’ll make it in time.”

“How? The only sheltered route would take too long and-”

Semi silenced him with a single gesture, pointing toward the empty road that led to the main building. Puddles littered the wry pavement, convulsing beneath the merciless torrent of raindrops. 

“Oh no, we are so not going to-”

“Come on, live a little.” Shirabu’s gaze alternated between the brewing tempest and Semi’s lopsided grin.

“No way,” he decided.

Apparently Semi didn’t take no for an answer because right as those words left his lips, he felt a hand grasp his wrist, roughly yanking him forward.

“The fuck-” and that was all he could get out before he found himself sprinting toward the deluge. Under normal circumstances, he would resist, fighting back like a caged wildcat in all its raw savagery. But this was no normal circumstance because it was _Semi_ that was pulling him toward the rain and that small, almost negligible, touch of physical contact seemed to chase away all rationality. 

So that’s the story of how Shirabu found himself running through the downpour, feeling the piercing winds bite into his skin whilst water seeped through his clothes. By the time they’d reached sweet shelter, he was thoroughly damp. Not exactly soaked but a far cry from dry. His view shifted from the ground to his senior. Semi’s dank shirt was teetering on translucent, pressing against his torso such that if he squinted hard enough he could see the outline of his abs - and that was the exact moment Shirabu’s brain cells imploded. 

“So are we doing this again tomorrow?”

Shirabu’s gaze darted up, silently thanking his lucky stars for his poker face. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you later at training.” With that, Semi let his hand go before bounding down the hallway. Shirabu simply watched him leave, following his ombre hair of sterling silver tipped ash bob with each step until he was swallowed by the mass of students, and then, he fights the temptation to chase. His fingers hovered over the other’s once warm touch, fully aware of how stupid such an action was. Yet, with the adrenaline flooding his cognitive system, he couldn’t seem to care. 

\-------

The next day, Shirabu returned once again, in his hand two store-bought breads. He weaved through the mass of students as he did before albeit a little more hesitant this time. 

“Ah, Shirabu-chan, are you here for Semisemi again?”

Now, as much as he’d hate to admit, Shirabu was small; while not exactly meager, he wasn’t very noticeable at first glance. So when Tendou’s sharp exclamation turned all eyes on him, he couldn’t help shoot the redhead a _look_. It was a cross between a glare and an impassive gaze, hinting at him to stop talking. Tendou didn’t get the hint, opting to continue in the same singsong tune. 

“You know, there's a handicap toilet down the hallway with room for two-”

A sharp karate chop to his back by Semi successfully cut him off. The ash-blond peered over the boy’s shoulder, raising a single hand in greeting. “Hey Shirabu, wanna get going?” 

Shirabu fought down a scarlet blush, stifling a nod before turning tail to leave wordlessly. 

“Sorry about Tendou he’s…. Well, he’s Tendou.” Semi stated after quickly catching up to the younger.

“It’s fine.” An hush fell between them, save for the patter of footsteps echoing round the vicinity as the two walked in tune. While Shirabu was usually more than comfortable with silence, a small part of him found this particular quietude unsettling.

“I um,” he began, awkwardly handed Semi a bun wrapped in a thin transparent plastic film. “I got you something since we didn’t have time to buy food yesterday.”

“Oh? What flavour is it?”

“Coffee.”

“Disgusting.”

Shirabu instantly retracted his hand, tucking the coffee-flavoured bun safely behind his back. “Suit yourself. More for me then.”

“I was kidding!” The taller boy made a lurch for the bun, successfully snatching it and dragging it right out of Shirabu’s reach. “I’ll try it since you so _thoughtfully_ bought one for me.”

The brunette scowled, posing irritance as he glared at the other. “Well, enjoy it because you won’t be getting one tomorrow.”

Shirabu would have sworn Semi’s lips pulled into subtle pout but the second he blinked, it was gone. In its place, a simple amused curl - almost trademark at that point. “Come on, lighten up a little. Anyway, I could get you something tomorrow to return the favour.”

Thunder cooed uncharacteristically overhead and Shirabu could only hope the darkened lighting hid his blooming blush. Easing his tone composed, he then replied: “Your coaching is favour enough, Semi-san.”

Training was rather uneventful, lacking all the intimacy that the prior one had. That said, it was still enjoyable; setting always was. To Shirabu’s surprise, Semi was actually a half decent coach, choosing to focus a lot on the fundamentals rather than the more intricate techniques. Moreover, having someone correct his every error on the go was a welcome change. As much as he’d never admit it, he enjoyed this particular training, so much so that it was Semi who had to remind him of lunch.

“We should probably start eating before break’s over. I’m getting some orange juice from the vending machine, want one?”

Shirabu halted the rally, tossing the volleyball back in the cart before wheeling it away as he replied. “I prefer apple juice.”

“You’re kidding.”

The brunette stifled a sigh, turning to face the elder before deadpanning: “Why would I be kidding.”

“Apple juice is _gross._ ”

“I would say the same for orange juice and tea but clearly, your palette is too barbarian to understand that.” A razor thin smile curled at the edges of his lips just as the words left his mouth, fully aware he was the one being parochial.

He caught a frown tug at the slope of Semi’s brow as he retorted: “You’re the one with the disgusting taste.”

Shirabu merely shrugged. “To each their own.”

Semi scoffed, leaving to buy the drinks and returning shortly with two cans in hand. They settled by the side of the court, Shirabu idly leaning against the wall for comfort. Summer was bordering round full swing and while the pouring torrent outside served to cool the weather, it only intensified the uncomfortable humidity. 

“It’s sweet.” He heard Semi exclaim beside him, his words imbued with disbelief. 

Taking a bite of his own bun, he then retaliated. “No shit, what’d you expect?”

“I don’t know… not this.”

Shirabu tilted his chin to eye him sideways, raising a single brow to his hairline. “Have you never tried coffee bread before?”

“Obviously not. I thought it’d taste like actual coffee.”

“It does, just sweeter.”

“It’s good.”

“Welcome to the world of coffee, Semi-san.”

\-------

Just like that, a new routine formed and Shirabu couldn’t help but welcome the change in his norm. Within the week, the rain had lightened, eventually receding in favour of pristine skies. He found the extra training paying off in the most subtle of ways. Shirabu began to pay more attention to the basic motion of a set; channeling power from his legs through to the bend of his elbows before finally releasing it in a swift flick of his wrists. The repeated motion was liberating, each set igniting fires in his chest, releasing pent up tension he didn’t even know he harboured. Naturally, the fruits of his labour bloomed.

It was during a practice match where he truly felt the rise in standard. Shirabu could feel his pulse race with trepidation when Washijo subbed him in for the last set. Exhilaration pooled in the pit of his gut as he jogged onto the court, facing against the college team. Yellowed lighting gleamed a tad too bright like fragmented suns bespeckled overhead. Humidity clung to the air along with the faint tinge of sweat, exacerbating the blistering summer heat. The whistle blew, shrill and sharp, and the rest of the world flew into motion. Now that setting had somewhat been ingrained as instinct, Shirabu found himself able to keep up. His head was constantly in the game, eyes darting, mind analyzing; predicting the next play. 

That said, miracles didn’t happen overnight and he was still playing tempo out of pace - be it too fast or too slow. The boy was not yet familiar with the first string, much less how to draw out their individual potential. He casted a few uncertain glances at his coach, searching the elder’s expression for a hint of what to do, finding none. So he ended up conforming to what he’d thought was expected of him; set to the ace. And it was that exact people pleaser mentality that almost costed them the game. A single look at the scoreboard showed 33-32 in favour of the college team. Shirabu internally cussed. Flanking his right, he could tell Ushijima was laden with exhaustion though the senior refused to show it. The weariness that ebbed away at his spikes combined with the opponent’s growing familiarity had reduced his success rate significantly, leaving Shirabu with little options left. Options that required his decision. 

Problem was, he didn’t trust his decision. 

He sent a few sets to Kawanishi and Tendou with as much precision his fatigued state allowed, hoping to throw them off with the change in favouritism. But to no avail; nothing could shatter the iron wall that loomed before them. Rallies dragged on, the difference in score remaining close to non existent. Time ticked slow for no one, ushering in a disgustingly sultry night.

39-38, still to the opponent’s favour.

The whistle blew once more, signaling a change of players. Semi subbed in for a serve, his usual unkempt locks extra dishevelled from the viciousness of the game. Bow shaped lips were pressed to a fine line as he jogged to the back of the court. Shirabu sighted muscle bend contours as the ash-blond readjusted the grip on the volleyball and that was when he forced his attention back on the opponent. Bending his knees, he shifted his weight in place, conforming to a readied stance once more. 

A deafening smack echoed throughout the vicinity as the world froze, the only thing in motion being the volleyball. Faster than lighting, sharper than blades, the ball zipped through the air in a blur of yellow and blue hues, leaving afterimages as it slammed right into the corner of the court. Shirabu’s jaw hung loose, gaze shifting between the frozen opponents and the ball rolling aimlessly to the side. 

For a brief heartbeat, drop dead silence ensued.

“NO TOUCH SERVICE ACE!” Tendou bellowed from the sidelines.

Chaos erupted. Shirabu found himself hollering along with the rest of the team, his fingers curled to a tight fist in celebration. With that one serve, Semi single handedly turned the tide. A grin broke into his nonchalant expression as he turned round to face Semi, catching the senior beaming right back at him. Unsaid praise hung heavy before Shirabu tore his attention away. Fresh vigour burned in his lungs, newfound adrenaline chasing all enervation away. The next point was theirs and he knew it.

“One more nice serve!”

“Go! Killer serve!”

“Bring it in, Semisemi!”

Sure enough, the next serve came, propelled with all the force of a bullet launched. Shirabu heard the ball whizz overhead, felt the swift gust of wind in its wake. His lips curled, subtly, deviously, simply waiting for the opponent’s slip up.

“Chance ball!”

Perfect. Shirabu stayed in place, hyper aware of players besetting him, calculative gaze flickering between his flanks. Inhale, exhale. He raised his arms, forefinger and thumb cradling the ball for a fraction of a frame before sending it in a graceful arc.

“Semi-san!” 

Like gears in clockwork, the set connected. Thunder cackled as Semi’s palm smashed the ball to the ground with enough force to dent steel. Their opponents were stunned silent, each bounce of the volleyball echoing with the volume of a snare. 

It was just a practice match but that point alone felt like they’d won nationals.

Cheers and and shouts all faded into the white noise of celebration as they shook hands with the college team. Shirabu felt jubilation flood the confinement of his chest, lighter than mist, sweeter than nectar. He let a smile crease his lips as the team gathered, all exhausted but spirit blazing. Washijo pointed out the obvious mistakes, slipping in pieces of humour here and there to make for a classic debrief. Though the man’s tone was sharp throughout, the post victory atmosphere remained light, prompting more unsaid praise than criticism. Within a few minutes - and it was _always_ a good sign when Washijo had less to say than more - the coach was just about done. Shirabu prepared himself to tune out, to let ingrained routine take over and guide his every action for clean up. But a single mention of his name snapped his attention back on the coach.

“Shirabu.” 

The boy jolted upright, not sure when he even started slouching to begin with, as he turned to face the elder with all ears.

“Expect to be subbed in for more practice matches here on out.”

Shirabu was far from an emotional boy but that statement alone had unshed tears stinging at the back of his eyes. If there was one thing the Shiratorizawa volleyball club members agreed on, it was that Washijo did not do praise; this was the closest the brunette could ever hope to get. His jaw dropped ajar as the weight of his words settled in, each syllable echoing through his mind like an audio on repeat.

_Expect to be subbed in for more practice matches here on out._

More than praise; it was acknowledgment. Shirabu sat, blinking in place, barely finding the consensus to stutter a thank you before the coach stalked off. He felt his teammate’s pat him on the back (though “smack” would be a more accurate portrayal) as they cleared out and ensured to nod politely at a few scattered commendations despite his bewildered state. Semi lingered for a moment longer than the rest, umber irises gleaming caramel beneath the sepia-like lighting. Though exhaustion tugged at his expression, not a single furrow lined his brow and his smile was curled so genuinely it held the luminosity of a thousand stars.

“You improved a lot.” _I’m proud of you_ , was left unsaid. 

Shirabu felt warmth erupt in his chest but this time, it was oddly comforting, almost soothingly so. “Only because you helped me train during breaks.” Came the reply, void of any feigned snark of venom. 

Semi merely shrugged. “Well, it’s your effort so give yourself some credit.”

With that, the senior left for the locker rooms, Shirabu following suit. He proceeded to fall into routine, making a beeline for his own locker and opening it with little effort. In a single motion, he slugged his training bag from the elevated cabinet and propped it onto a bench behind. He pulled the zip open, blindly fumbling round for his spare clothes only for his hand to brush against his vibrating phone. The boy fished the device out, fully bent on declining the call due to sheer laziness until he saw the contact name sprawled in bold white kanji.

_Mother._

His brows furrowed as he forced himself to think of it as nothing more than unusual before answering.

“Mom?”

“Kenjirou.” Her voice was brittle like shattered glass, teetering on strangled as she slurred his name. Alcohol, he concluded, feeling dread starting to pool in his gut.

“Please come home now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uM if this is really choppy and sub-par iM SORRY?? I DONT KNOW HOW TO WRITE SLOW BURN I DIDN'T EVEN PLAN FOR THIS TO BE A SLOW BURN *CUE INTERNAL EXTERNAL AND SPRITUAL PANICKING* 
> 
> Anyway, I really hope this was an enjoyable read? I love writing sports scenes but I play a different sport so my volleyball descriptions are probs really inaccurate but gah the feelings that comes with sports are INTENSE and I really hope to do it justice. Once again, if yall made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I'll see you again next time!


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